


Evillus the Destructonator

by Moriwen, playboyphilanthropist



Category: Glowfic and Related Works
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Dirty Talk, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 06:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17699465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriwen/pseuds/Moriwen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/playboyphilanthropist/pseuds/playboyphilanthropist
Summary: An attempted bridenapping and some sex pollen leaves Deadpool in a bit of a predicament.





	Evillus the Destructonator

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainworthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainworthy/gifts).



“I’m not going to fuck you,” Asher says.

Deadpool squirms. Then he moans, because of the twisted rebar that’s trapping him in place, three bars are actually going _through_ him. Well, three that Asher can see. There’s probably more.

“Why not?” he asks, when he finishes moaning.

“To start with,” Asher says, “we’re currently inside the torch of the Statue of Liberty. Which is notably devoid of beds. Or privacy.” 

“Like that would -- _oh_ \-- like that would stop you,” Deadpool complains. The iron bar through his thigh has torn his costume on its way in, and the tear is getting longer, because he keeps squirming; it runs nearly hip to knee now, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of scarred flesh.

“ _Also_ ,” says Asher, taking off his helmet, because this is getting to be a long conversation to have in the Iron Man suit, “if I try to take you off of the wall, the rebar through your stomach will pull out and you’ll die.”

“I’ll get better!”

“Evillus the Destructonator doesn’t know that. And if you die before he can come back and marry you, he’ll destroy Manhattan.”

_“I am not marrying Evillus the Destructonator!_ ” Deadpool protests.

Asher, having finished taking off his suit, steps a little closer, puts a comforting hand on Deadpool’s shoulder. “Of course not. The rest of the Avengers are going to stop him. But until we can capture him and contain the sex pollen epidemic, you can’t die, or his nanosensors will inform him. _Which brings me to my third point,”_ Asher goes on, before Deadpool can protest again. “It would be _profoundly unethical_ to fuck you while you’re under the influence of sex pollen.”

“Okay,” says Deadpool, “but have you considered the counterargument that: _Asher Stark fuck me this minute or I’m going to die of sheer blue balls!_ ”

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Asher says, bringing them neatly back to where they started.

Deadpool goes back to squirming and moaning. It kind of looks like he’s actually _trying_ to get the rebar to move in his wounds. Possibly it’s a demented Deadpool version of jerking off. Even through the costume, it’s obvious how hard he is.

Asher Stark is a merciful man. “I could _kiss_ you,” he offers.

Deadpool’s head is tipped back, moaning. His mask doesn’t quite reach his suit, twisted like that; there’s maybe half an inch of skin exposed, half scarred, half plain. Asher very much _wants_ to kiss it.

“You could suck my cock,” Deadpool counteroffers.

“You say such lovely things.” Asher moves a little closer still, so he can breathe on that exposed stretch of skin. “But no. No sex on alien aphrodisiacs without prior consent. It’s a personal rule of mine.”

“If you’d asked me ahead of time I would have consented!!” 

“Tell me that in eight hours, and I’ll know for next time.” Asher gives into temptation and licks the skin.

Deadpool gives a strangled moan, and tries to move his hands. He fails, because both have rebar coiled around the wrists, and one is also pierced through the palm.

“No fucking,” Asher repeats. “No sex in general. But I can kiss you, and I can talk to you.”

“Noooo,” Deadpool complains, squirming some more.

“You _don’t_ want me to talk to you?”

“No! No, do talk to me, just--”

“Oh _good._ ” Asher is experimenting with how close his body can be to Deadpool’s without actually touching him anywhere. “Then I can tell you that you’re fucking gorgeous, and I jerk off imagining your lips around my cock.”

“Fuck, _Asher--_ ” Deadpool’s voice has gone all high-pitched.

“What’s that?” Asher asks, teasing affectionately. “Would you like to suck my cock?”

“Yes!!”

“I think you mean ‘yes, please, Asher, I would very much like to suck your cock.’”

“Fuck -- _oh_ \-- fuck you, no I don’t,” Deadpool says, raggedly.

“I can hear your heart beating from here. I think you do mean that.”

“Just -- fucking _touch_ me--”

“I’m sure you can ask more nicely than that,” Asher says, sweetly. “And if you _do_ ,” drowning out Deadpool’s next semi-coherent objection, “then when this is all over, I’ll take you back to Stark Tower, and I’ll find out how you like to be hurt, and then I’ll tie you up just like this, and put a vibrator inside you, and kiss you while you come over and over again until you can’t remember how to beg for it to stop.”

Deadpool is so hard it has to hurt.

“Can I pull up your mask far enough to kiss you?” Asher asks. 

“Oh, god, _please_.” 

Asher does. One side of Deadpool’s mouth is flushed red with arousal; he has to bite it, while he kisses it, to bring up more color still. The other side is just red, knotted and warped like the wood of an ancient tree; he kisses that side, too, maybe at more length.

Deadpool is breathless and moaning, by the time Asher is done with him. And begging, despite the breathlessness. “Please, Asher, please, I need you so bad, I feel so empty without you, please...” 

“Shh. Shhhh.” Asher kisses his jaw. “You’re lovely when you beg. I’m going to make you do a lot of it. I bet it’s even prettier when you’re begging to _stop_ coming.”

“ _Asher..._ ”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet thing.” Kiss. “You’re pretty when you squirm and it hurts. Do it again.” 

Deadpool does, trying to get some part of his body below the neck in contact with Asher. That doesn’t work; but the squirming _does_ leave him moaning, incoherent, with the horrible pain of impalement.

“You like that, don’t you? Answer me.”

“Fuck -- yes, Asher, I do, yes...” 

“Good. I like it too. I’m going to have so much fun with you.” Another kiss. “Maybe I’ll fuck you in the suit.”

“ _God._ Does it _have_...?”

“It has hands.” Not even kissing Deadpool’s neck, anymore, just breathing on it. “Imagine one of those jerking you off. Do you think you could get off like that? Just cold metal? Hoping that I got the pressure just right, that I didn’t squeeze too hard and crush you...?”

Deadpool doesn’t answer. He’s moaning, squirming incessantly.

“Imagine,” Asher goes on, “once I’d made you come that way, I’d finger you.”

“Asher, _please._ ”

“You don’t have to beg.” Biting Deadpool’s neck? Biting Deadpool’s neck is delightful, Asher discovers. Especially the scarred side. He makes such fascinating noises about it. “I mean, I do _like_ it, but I’m going to do it to you anyway. Even if you beg me not to. I wonder,” he muses, “how many fingers you could take from the suit? I wonder if you could take the whole hand? The nice thing about you,” bite, lick, “is that I don’t have to worry about _breaking_ you.”

“Please, Asher, I need you _now,_ I’m going to _die,_ just fuck me -- I need your cock in me -- please, Asher, you don’t know what it’s like...”

“Oh?” Asher asks, interested. “Tell me.” 

“I’ve never _been_ this desperate -- it feels like the moment before you come, but every second, and it doesn’t _stop,_ it doesn’t get easier, I can’t think about anything but how to get touched, _please,_ I _need_ it, I didn’t know I _could_ want anything this much, I’d do _anything_ \-- but I _can’t_ do anything -- you’re the only one who...” 

“That’s right, lovely thing.” Asher kisses him again, more fiercely. “I’m the only one who can decide what happens to you. And I’m not touching you. I love how much you want me. I want to keep you this way forever.”

“Asher...” Deadpool is crying. There’s tears leaking out from under his mask on one side; on the other, nothing. His tear duct must be ruined.

“You’re gorgeous. I’m going to strap you into a fucking machine and leave you there until you die, and come back still being fucked, and die again, and I’m going to save the video and watch it on fast-forward every time I jerk off.” Asher’s voice has gone low, sweet, almost purring. “I’m going to cut off your dick and see what prostate stimulation is like for you before it heals. I’m going to do amateur sex reassignment surgery on you and fuck you in your new bleeding cunt.”

Deadpool strains against the metal one last time, arching, and _screams,_ and comes in his pants, sobbing helplessly. Still hard, Asher notes. Sex pollen. 

Asher kisses him.

_“Stand down,”_ says the radio, crackling from Asher’s suit in the corner. _“Evillus the Destructonator has been neutralized. I repeat, all units stand down, Evillus the Destructonator has been neutralized._ ”

“That’s our cue,” Asher murmurs, into Deadpool’s lips, and pulls away to put the suit back on.

“Don’t go,” Deadpool protests, blearily.

Asher uses his repulsor to cut through rebar, carefully, until all the bars wrapped around Deadpool have fallen to the ground. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

Then he takes Deadpool in his arms, and pulls him off the bars that have run him through.

Blood goes everywhere. It’s a matter of moments before Deadpool goes limp in his arms. 

Asher kisses his forehead one last time, then puts up the visor, and takes off, Deadpool cradled in his arms.

“You and me, though,” he murmurs, to the temporarily dead man in his arms. “We’re going home.”

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday, beloved


End file.
